


Come to Pass

by vosien



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blood and Injury, Character Study, F/M, Moral Dilemmas, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-31 02:42:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21053186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vosien/pseuds/vosien
Summary: Annette left her homeland with a resolve. Bestow with her uncle's desires - when he traded the Heroes’ Relic with aged and callous fingers - for a sliver of hope and lament his covet to see the Kingdom restored to its former glory. A wish that both herself and her father accepted without hesitation. She too would like to see a future where the Kingdom thrive once more. Where His Highness takes back Fhirdiad, where all her friends are safe and sound, where the innocence are no longer dying in the streets.





	Come to Pass

The first time Annette swung the Crusher was when she no older than five years old.

The other two men - one being her father and the other her uncle - in the room were dumbfounded by the mere sight. They believed; swore in harsh whispers, that their bloodline has all but lost their crest to history. However they were greatly humbled by a small blob of marigold, as a child would proceed to lift the hammer with ease, before allowing the wonders of gravity to bring it smashing down, towards the ground. At that very moment, it felt like Annette was bestowed with the utmost strength from both His Majesty and His Highness of Faerghus, and in the wake with her newfound power, left a path of disarray and havoc in her course, followed by the wrath of a powerful gale as it swept through the open grounds.

“Well...” It was the youngest among the brothers that was the first to break the silence, once both arms were lowered, and his gaze was now locked on the disjointed training grounds. Old equipment and destroyed dummies was littered all over the floor. The door that lead to the area - unable to withstand the magical force has fallen - several pillars has taken a fall, while others were on it’s last leg. “... I didn’t think the Goddess would allow me to bare witness to of someone else being able to wield our family’s relic once again.”

The father of the child; Gustave didn’t reply, instead his attention was on his daughter. Bright vermilion hair was blown in several directions, her shoulder shaken, as steel blue eyes were now widen in sheer agitation.

“Am I… Am I in trouble?” The child finally spoke, her tone quite meek, unable to meet their glance.

Her father shook his head, arms folded, yet his voice was stern. “No, Annette.”

He wouldn’t say he was displeased but outcome, but somewhat jaded. He never thought, nor considered the possibility that his daughter would be granted the Dominic Crest, let alone an affinity for magic. In fact, both him and his brother has considered the Dominic crest to be as good as gone once their grandfather passed away. Alas that is no longer the case, as a crest barer stood before his very eyes. His daughter no less.

“Annette, please look at me.” Her father beckons, as he place one knee on the ground and his rigid expression visible soften. Slowly, but surely, Annette allows herself to meet his gaze, however her attachment on the Crusher has yet to cease, unintentionally tightening her grip. The Crusher quivers under Annette’s child like fingers, as the bone like strand on the end of hammer flickers and curls, and the crimson glow hums its luster.

“Where did you find the hammer Annette?”

In all honesty, Gustave has been assured time and time again that both his brother and himself has kept the relic hidden, confined in an area where only very few knew of its exact location.

“I, uh.” Her face was skewed, in search of much needed answers. A moment of repose did little to form the proper wording, as she decides to settle for a brief answer, “It… it spoke to me.”

Her uncle rose an eyebrow, mildly amused. “Spoke to you?”

Annette face turned flushed, head tilted involuntary, and eyes cast onto the ground once more. “Not with words or anything, but I- I was walking through a hallway when I felt my right hand became really hot. It- It started glowing, and it got brighter once I went downstairs.” From there a faint smile graced on her lips. “It’s like a treasure hunt! And… And I wanted to find the source of the glow, so I kept going when it shined brighter, until I found the hammer in... uncle’s study room.” She lowered her stances once more, eyes hidden under her red curtains. “Sorry uncle.”

“I told you the study room was a terrible idea.” Gustave mused, but his tone did not possess any spite, nor mirth. Indifferent at best.

His brother dare laughs as a response. “You speak as if Annette wasn’t going to find the relic? Given the turn of events, I say that’s now impossible, since the Goddess has bestowed my niece with the Crest of Dominic.” At this, Gustave had little choice but to agree.

“That is indeed the case.” He acknowledged, and his gaze found Annette once more who has now tilted the relic on an angle. Her inquisitive nature was on full display, as curious eyes observed the alit hammer.

Annette may be five years old, a mere child to the eyes of many, but within the world of nobility and hidden affairs of the rich and powerful, even feudal lords like himself knew Annette will be ushered into the world of the social climb within a matter of time.

But now?

Born into nobility is one thing, but with the Crusher on hand and it’s radiance blazing from her dominant hand, several more pathways has presented themselves. There is more to Annette than a pretty face and her family title, and quite honestly, it has taken him by surprise. He was more than content for Annette to be a knight’s daughter, and in turn, she can decide her own path when the time came. As her father, perhaps it’s cliche for him to sing hymns of her happiness, to live a life that only she wants - however. “To think that the Goddess has plans for Annette.” Gustave chide in harsh whispers, just audible enough for his brother to hear.

In truth, to speak of this revelation would be nothing short but great news for His Majesty and those within the military ranks. In the previous year, the Kingdom was graced with news of the Galatea house whom only’s daughter was blessed with the crest of Daphnel. Now this? He cannot but muse by the possibilities of the upcoming future. An omen of sort.

Whatever they were, he hopes to never see the day, where she will take hold of Crusher for its intended purpose.

Even so, he cannot deny himself a fleeting moment of happiness when he saw his daughter swung the Crusher with ease and utmost precision and clarity.

As if it was meant to be.

.

.

.

News of His Majesty’s death came alight, the next day her father left home and never came back.

Annette never found reason to take hold of the relic afterwards. Instead, she ushered herself into a world of academics, where she can meet her father halfway.

.

.

.

Even when Fhirdiad found itself within amidst the pandemonium of war, Baron Dominic - without fail - would present his niece with a handful of letters every month or so. Once given, Annette’s gaze would flatter and sighs. In turn, her mother would brew her favourite tea as her daughter proceeds to make herself comfortable and read the contents from within.

“Who is it this time?” Mother Dominic would ask with a placid smile, tea set down, and took a seat beside her daughter.

Annette would offer her mother a smile, a faint one, and fold the letter in two. “A minor lord from the Empire.” Was all she said.

There was little else to be said afterwards. The content was more or less the same, with a lord from a noble family seeking her hand in marriage, and not out of love, but for her Crest. It’s a common story among women who are from noble birth, more so when they bore a Crest. However, unlike Ingrid and Mercedes, Annette came from a federal family, whose duties were solely to serve the royal family. So much so, the Dominic family never felt the need to marry off their sole Crest bearer.

Even when chaos is on an all time high, even when Baron Dominic felt like they had no choice but to kneel and pledge their very being, blood and soul to Cornelia, even when Annette decided to fight for her Kingdom and the Disillusioned Prince, it never came to pass.

Only when Annette decided the Heroes’ Relic of House Dominic was needed between the palm of her hands once again, did she stood within her homeland as an enemy, a fiend, and everything that was once deemed normal has become foreign in a split second.

All she can do is steel herself, as she watched familiar faces fall from grace.

In the end, Professor came, as did her former classmates, and won.

The Crusher is hers once more.

Annette left her homeland with a resolve. Bestow with her uncle's desires - when he traded the Heroes’ Relic with aged and callous fingers - for a sliver of hope and lament his covet to see the Kingdom restored to its former glory. A wish that both herself and her father accepted without hesitation. She too would like to see a future where the Kingdom thrive once more. Where His Highness takes back Fhirdiad, where all her friends are safe and sound, where the innocence are no longer dying in the streets.

However, to make this dream a reality, they will need all the help they can get.

.

.

.

Ingrid was given the Lúin.

Sylvain took back the Lance of Ruins

Felix protected the lives of his subject, and bestow the Aegis Shield.

Annette joined the ranks five years later with the Crusher by her side.

When she made her way to the training grounds, she was greeted by a lone wolf. A wooden sword and his own relic at hand.

“Fight me.” Came his words.

He does not jest, and Annette was more than willing to comply with his request, as the hammer went swinging.

In haste, Felix brought up his shield to protect oneself, and felt a crushing blow made it’s descent against the shield. A howling gale sweep through the training ground, and the swordmaster forced his footing down to keep his stance and battle against the raging tempest.

Once the weight of the shield lighten, Felix shifted his footing. He breaks left, eyes narrowed and tighten his grip on the wooden sword. His opponent; Annette leaps back, and taunts, “Nuh uh.” And without hesitation she swings the hammer once more. Another gush of wind made its presence known, but this time, he was more than prepared and rolled away before the hammer made an impact.

“Too slow!” He upbraids, and found his footing. He allows his body to move with the mystic air, before adjusting his sword with both hands and came slashing down.

Annette, now on the defensive attempted to block the incoming attack with little avail.

She knew.

He knew.

Even if Felix held a training sword as a means of defense, he was still more than capable of pulling his own weight.

He may not be as powerful as Dimitri, as fast as Ingrid, as flexible as Sylvain but he has resolve. A determination to pull through. He desires nothing more than to get stronger, faster - but even now - as his sword clash against the rod of the hammer, the force pinned against a mere training sword against a hero’s relic, was proven too much, too quickly, and snaps -_ it's never enough._

The sword broke in two, with the forte being the breaking point.

“Oh no!” She gasped, the hammer lowered without thought as concern flood her sights.

He blinks, and notice the grip was all that remains from the sword.

“I guess that is all for training today.”

“But the sword?”

He almost wanted to laugh. Almost. Only to pause when amber eyes found her pink lips pouts and gaze turned crestfallen. He then resigned himself to a mere sigh. “It’s a training sword Annette, they weren’t designed to withstand against a hero’s relic.” He also wants to add they were design to destroy, smash, demolish all in sight, but he has no reason to ramble. He has no reason to share his grief. 

Instead, he shallow his words, 

It taste like ash. 

.

.

.

Annette remembers her first kill.

She recalls the static that ran through the tips of her fingers, the surge of magic that ran its course, and with all her might a gust of wind came forth, and down went the bandit.

Beside the faint smell of scorching heat that lingers at the tip of her fingers, she didn’t know what the bandit looked like, nor did she knew his name, or what has led the rouge towards a life of pillaging the innocent. In what should have been a moment of repose to question one’s moral dilemmas, she instead danced with glee and did a twirl. Her sixteen year old self was over the Harpstring Moon, beyond pleased that she fought and won. Now as an adult, she looks back and recite the times during the academy. A time where she fought under the guidance of her professor. In what originally was to prove herself and attempt to reconnect with her father, only became an obsession to protect her friends and allies.

She played by her strengths, because even though she had studied magic for many, many years, she never truly grasped the concept of it. In fact, no one truly could. Yet, this alone wouldn’t stop Annette from doing her absolute best. Throughout the year, Sylvain’s tactless ways would only enable her to try even harder, while Ashe would remind her of her current goals only to be topped up with several more, and Mercedes will continue to support her as she baked her a plate of sweets most evenings.

If only it ended there.

From the Blue Lions, Annette would find herself conversing with those outside of her house. She became fast friends with Caspar from the Black Eagles, in turn met Linhardt. Lysithea would become her new study partner, and several weeks later would wake up rather flustered when steel blue eyes latch onto Hilda, whom was sleeping by her side.

At the time, the warlock thought it was odd being in an international school at first, where students from three different countries were expected to be somewhat civil with one another. Yet Annette was quickly proven wrong within a matter of weeks, and she couldn't have been more pleased.

Of course, as is the way of life, all good things must come to an end.

The tears has yet to cease when the eternal flames has taken a hold of Lysithea. Annette hoped; believed that with a single swing of the Crusher - as the hammer would proceed to send a raging tempest - its presence would crave a path towards their objective. Instead, two promising mages, both seen with a bright and promising future, came face to face with one another in Grounder Fields. Just like the battle of the Eagles and the Lions, except this was no mock battle.

This is war.

And with war, it demands blood from the fallen.

Annette will never know that Lysithea wished to lived a peaceful life beyond all else, when the central hill was sent alight.

.

.

.

Several months later Caspar too will fall to his death, but unlike Lysithea, he gave Annette the utmost honors of one final smile before the light in his eyes fades to dust.

.

.

.

Sunset came once all but the last flicker of fire ceased, and a sea of crimson river came paddling down in Gronder Field, as those who are deceased are left to slumber in the open fields for all of eternity. A reminder of the cruel realities of war. No one was truly immune by the turn of events, even His Highness has left the cathedral for the first time, in what seemed to be a lifetime ago since the Blue Lions has reunited several months ago.

Annette has done her fair share of mourning, hers being the most obvious out of the group. As she clung to her best friend in the whole wide world, apple red check flushed against the bishop’s chest and choked a sob. Mercedes would speak nothing of it, but allowed her friend to weep, or to sleep, or nimble upon bake treats.

“Am I a terrible person for taking their lives of others, for our future?” Annette once questioned under harsh breaths, when the third day had passed. Mercedes was silent at first, her gazes hovers ever so slightly as tentative fingertips has yet to cease from Annette’s soft curls.

“No, they were fighting for what they believed in.” Finally came an answer, and proceed to give her friend another stroke. Slender fingers comb through her matted locks, and hums. “But what is done is done, and nothing can change that. The best we can do it more on and live in the present, we at least owe it to those who are unable to come back.”

Eyes turned crestfallen, Annette tucked her head under Mercedes’ chin and sighs.

“What we believe in…”

What future did Annette hope to achieve, especially once the war is over?

.

.

.

Ingrid dug a hole.

Sylvain and Dedue placed the body to rest.

Ashe laid an array of flowers. All handpicked.

Mercedes and Annette cited a pray.

Felix will never be able to apologies to his father.

.

.

.

She had overstayed her welcome in the library once again. Left cheek merged with the open tome, Annette whines as she peeled the book off her face. She didn’t need to check the time, nor fret over the minor details as she collected her belongings, returned the books to their original shelves, and fanned out the candles before making her way downstairs. From there it was an easy walk back to her dorm. It almost became a routine, more so, an obligation, to check the training grounds before she could finally have some much needed shut eye. Without fail, as if waiting, Felix was in the training ground, but unlike his usual stances, he was without his sword and back on the ground. She thought he was asleep at first, yet when she caught sight of blood, his shoulder presented burn marks, followed by lightning scars and Annette’s mind went into overdrive.

Was it magic exhaustion?

“Are you insane!?” She bile, eyes narrowed and sprinted across the training ground to where the injured male slept. Upon contact, slender finger began to press down on his shoulder where the flow of the crimson river was the most prominent. Annette allowed the flow of magic course through her veins, and in exchange a white glow present itself. She felt his flesh began to mend under her touch. She was no Mercedes. In fact, far from it. Even so, she was able to halt the bleeding within a matter of seconds, ease the burn marks, and in its place, his breath became steady.

“What were you thinking? Forcing yourself to conduct magic when clearly your body is exhausted!”

“I’m fine.” Felix replies in jagged breaths, and Annette bite her tongue, vexation cities in the depth of her gaze. .

“This isn’t funny Felix.” She chides, hands began to travel further down, the scars has traveled from across his chest. “You were attempting to summon Thoron weren’t you?”

At this, Felix finally allow his gaze to side, a sigh escape his lips and groans. “Yeah… I just had it moments ago, but it-”

… self imploded.

Was what Felix may have wanted to say, but words failed him.

Annette got the gist of it.

She _thinks_.

You cannot force magic. She wanted to say, but she wasn’t Ingrid, nor would he actually listen to her lectures. Especially not when he’s tethering on sleep.

Instead of words, the warlock continued to mend his wounds, and swathe his arms with a fresh layer of bandage that could be found in the training grounds. Time passed, and neither spoke to one another. Felix wasn’t much for conversation, in which was a given, especially since when he was you classmate for a whole year. Annette on the other hand was grateful for the respite, especially when her brows were furrowed, her tongue poking out, and deep in concentration. White noise would be everyone’s undoing. “It’s done.” Annette spoke when all is done, and gave his arm an experimental poke. Amber eyes observed her work, “You did good.” And remarked.

All was quiet once more.

There was no invitation, but Annette allowed herself to laid beside him, thin arms circled around his waist and pressed her face against his body. His injured arm pulsed ever so often, as the scars remnants of the self infection made themselves home. She sighs, and speaks once again. “Please take a bath before you sleep tonight.”

“I was planning on it anyways.”

She nods, unsure what to say. 

Eventually, the pair decided the training grounds was no place to sleep in, as the pair took a stand and threw water onto the ground to wash away the excess blood. They didn’t need people in the morning questioning whose blood stains it was. “Come.” Was all Annette said, as their hands intertwine, she lead the pair towards the sauna.

“Annette.”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Annette knows that Felix wasn’t ready to speak about his father just yet.

.

.

.

Between her studies back in the Officer’s Academy followed by the havoc of war, when the world began to weep through the torment of fallen arrows and stacks of deceased bodies, rarely did the warlock found herself chasing the notion of love. Nor did Annette find any reason to do so. 

Perhaps when all was calm and peace has all but make their presence known at the edge of dawn, than maybe Annette would take these marriage proposal more seriously. Except life is a funny thing. She didn’t see it coming, and neither did he. Yet the red haired couldn’t contain her utmost glee, as dainty hands took hold of a quill and several parchment sheets of paper, and began to write in earnest. She wrote to her mother, explaining there was a man who has taken her first kiss, her first time, and her first declaration of love. 

Annette Fantine Dominic has fallen for Felix Hugo Fraldarius.

There were nights he would pepper her with kisses, and she would hum back, back arched as her arms circled around his neck. 

She finds it’s easy to confess when their lives are in danger. It’s easy to confess when tomorrow could be her final day. It’s easy to confess when all you have no one else but each other to cling onto. 

When the world is tumbling down, love is a luxury. One that Annette sieged with open hands, as she brought her lips on Felix’s, both eyes clenched shut when the swordmaster made his feelings clear as daybreak.

It happened all so suddenly, to fall for a man who irked her to no end. A bully, a vile villain who takes the utmost pleasure of taunting her. Mock her singing, mock her dancing, mock her- she inwardly cringed at herself. Yet when his expression visible soften, admit her songs has rendered him senseless to his surroundings, she was at first flustered, but was all too willing to sing for him once more and forever more.

At first she questioned why couldn’t she have fallen for Ashe instead? Or Dedue!? Goddess, even Sylvain made sense, despite his tactless ways upon the female sex. At least she could prepare herself for rejection. Even though many - including Ingrid herself - cannot deny his dashing good looks. Oh! If neither of them, why not His Highness? In fact, Annette recalls her time in the academy where her she finds herself staring towards the depth of his oceanic blue gaze, and soft blond locks. Her throat caught wind, her neck flushed, and steel blue eyes reed elsewhere, unable to contain herself when she first made contact with His Highness many moons ago. 

Even so, her heart yearns for the man who dons in blue, who rarely washes his hair, only to be tied hasty into a ponytail for convenience. When he speaks, the curt in his words would provide little to no comfort to those in need. 

They are exact opposites. 

Where she was the sun. He was the moon. 

She seeks the light at the end of the tunnel. He craves a path within the darkness. 

They were never meant to be, but under idle breath she found comfort under his warmth. 

.

.

.

_"Mother Dearest, you would been pleased to hear that I have indeed fallen for someone," _

_"But I'm scared that the Goddess' rage will take him away from me."_

.

.

.

Annette decided to become a dark knight to assist those in the front line. She made her intentions clear when invited to tea by no other than their beloved Professor. In turn, the Professor gave her a blank stare, cup untouched. “Ingrid should be in the training grounds, she’ll be more than happy to work on your lance handling.” The rest was history. 

Words soon spread and a few days later, Sylvain presented her a horse while Ingrid gave Annette one of her finest lance. It was even engraved with the Dominic Crest! 

“What’s wrong with one of the horses in the stable?” Annette questioned when Sylvain gave her Maribelle, the horse that has accompanied the Gauiter heir back to Garreg Mach.

“Nothing.” The fellow red haired shrugged, “Except Maribelle is a way better horse." A pause." Like way better.”

Ingrid who stood beside her childhood friend, crossed her arms. “What he’s trying to say is that it’s a Gauiter horse. It’s the only kind within all of Fodlan, making it a complete rarity. Not to mention that it's kind is the fastest in all of the Kingdom.”

“Plus, she’s a good girl.” Sylvain cooed, and gave the horse a pat.

Annette knew that both Sylvain and Ingrid were quite fond of horses, especially since both grew up with their own stables to attend too back in their home lands. She knew if either of the mounted units brought their own horses, they would most likely surpass the ones from the monastery in terms of speed and stamina. Even so, hesitation form in the tip of her tongue. Sure, she has taken on more stable duties, even rode on them when gathering supply, and Felix has taken the time to give her a tip or two, despite not much of a horse rider himself.

“But Maribelle is yours, I feel like I’m taking her away from you.” Annette felt the urge to protest, hands joined together, and face now readily flushed.

Sylvain simply gave in a chuckle. “My dearest Annette, I ride a wyvern. I don’t know about you, but Maribelle would like to be out in the open fields, beside going on shopping trips every week or so.”

When he meant by shopping trips, he meant to go into town and hope someone is selling something. Which is not much to go by when skirmish lies beyond the monastery. Even so, Annette bit her lips, seemingly not convinced. She’s a klutz, falling over to every crate box or barrel within sight, even when it comes to kitchen duties either Dedue or Ashe was tasked to ensure nothing blows up.

“Annette, listen to me.” Sylvain voice snaps the warlock out of her thoughts, his tone rather soft, even his expression visible loosen and eyes became almost doe like. “I wouldn’t be entrusting her to you. I… no, we’ve seen how serious you’ve been taking your training, and we kinda have a hunch why.”

Ingrid continues in his stead. “You cannot stand watching from the back while Felix fights in the front line without a battalion on him. So much so, you’re willing to get on a horse, just to be by his side, even if means you have to learn how to wield a lance.”

“Heck, you showed no interest in these sort of things during our time in the academy.” Sylvain states, and brought both hands on the back of his head. “In fact, you were fine playing by your strengths, as long you able to assist your allies. Yet now, as we fight not only for our Kingdom, we do so because we want to protect those we hold dear. For you, sure your friends matters, but we’ve seen how-”

Annette sighs, eyes turned crestfallen, and one hand press against her chest. “Am I that obvious?” 

Both Ingrid and Sylvain gave the dark knight in training a smile, although brief before the lady knight spoke once more. “We fight for our own beliefs. Yours is no different to ours.”

.

.

.

“Sylvain.”

“Felix, my man how are you-”

“You gave Annette your horse?”

Sylvain smile’s flatters, his arms in which were once outstretched began to lower, and the humour in his eyes subside. “That I did.” He confirmed, in a tone that Felix would describe as sincere without a lick of doubt. “What about it Felix?”

Instead of replying, he furrowed his brows, arms crossed. His lips were pulled into a thin line before he pressed once more and repeats. “You gave Annette your horse.”

“And as I said, that I did.” Sylvain recites, this time he raises a brow, a hand on his hips.

“I know you Sylvain, you don’t just give away your horses, especially not Maribelle.” Felix states, his tone heighten and heat readily present itself. “She is your pride and joy ever since we were kids. Hell, neither Ingrid or I couldn’t ride her until Ingrid’s 12th birthday as her present no less.”

At this Sylvain laughs, hands pulled to the back of his hands, lulled towards a sense of ease. “Well to be fair Felix, Maribelle was my first horse, my baby, my first love. Not anyone can ride her.” He winks, and Felix rolled his eyes in his usual unable-to-deal-with-Sylvain-mood. “And I know what you’re about to say, that ‘I can ride a horse just as well as Ingrid’ and so on. But let's be honest, when you were 11, you would have most likely fall off a horse than ride on one.”

“Sylvain be serious here.”

“Look man, I don’t know why you’re all worked up? Can’t I give my friend a horse?”

Can’t he?

Felix seized up momentarily, words were caught by his throat, and eyes cast aside. Annette mentioned she wanted to be dark knight. Quite adamant too. Since the war, she yearns to serve the front lines. To be of better assistance. To assist where others cannot. Felix has no doubt she’s capable of defending, let alone setting the world ablaze. She was strong, no doubt. Works harder than anyone else. Even when she wasn’t studying or training, regardless of the task, or the situation at hand she will always, _always,_ give it her all.

Yet-

“Oh no.” Sylvain mutters under harsh whispers, just audible enough for his friend of many, many years to turn heads and clash gaze once more. On cue, Felix gaze shifted. As his amber eyes latches onto Sylvain’s hazel hues, and anticipates the red hair’s incoming antics.

“Oh boy. Felix my man, oh Goddess.” Sylvain whines, and feigns pain. “You got it bad my friend. Very bad.”

Bad?

“I got what Sylvain?”

“How did I not see this coming? I mean it’s as clear as day.” Sylvain dramatically clutches onto his chest, takes in a deep breath, one knee onto the ground, and both eyes screwed shut. “To think someone did the impossible and melt that icy heart of yours but-”

From there, Sylvain snap his eyes open and Felix was almost taken aback. _Almost._ “But don’t fret my dear friend. It only gets better from here.”

What in Goddess name was the philanderer prattling about?

Hazel eyes never left Felix, as he took a stand, hands just inches apart.

“You.”

_Clap._

“Are.”

_Clap._

“Whipped.”

_Clap._

Neither Sylvain or Felix saw sunlight for the rest of the day when the lone wolf punched the red haired square in the face. Ingrid to appeared moments later, as she too returned the deed, and sent Felix falling deep into the darkness. 

“I swear, you two are going to be the death of me.” He heard Ingrid speaks one last time before all fade to black. "You're lucky Mercedes won't allow me to strangle you to death." 

.

.

.

By the time the Kingdom army has made their way to Derdriu within the Alliances, Annette found herself striding through Aquatic Capital by horseback. His Highness larked they have exchanged gear, when Annette came out don in black, whereas Dimitri no longer coat himself in pitch black armour. Although a harmless quote, Annette found herself howling herself in laughter. More so out of relief than his poor attempt at humour.

Once the ache from her stomach has cease to exist, and the tears no longer pools on the corner of her eyes, she pledge to fight for His Highness and the Kingdom.

“Goddess Annette, you’re not planning to become a knight?”

Annette chuckles, gloved fingers curls against the tea cup. “Oh Goddess no, not in a million years your Highness, but allow me to fight for my homeland until we see the war through.”

They were going to win, she can see it! Especially when Claude gave news that as of today that Alliances were no more, and will fall under the Kingdom’s banner. Originally stunned by the news, it took several hours for everyone to accept what has come to pass. Both His Highness and the Professor asked what Claude was to do now.

Annette will never forget the way how his smile fade, sea green eyes lament and grows dark, but even so, he smiles. For once she notice, his smile never reach his eyes.

He departs for a land beyond Fódlan.

She doesn’t hear from him for several years, but no longer Claude, but as King of Almyra.

But that’s another story for another time.

First they had a war to win.

.

.

.

She dreams of a future where she reunites with her family in the Kingdom, followed by a sea of children.

Starry eyes and bright, these are the future of the King- no all of Fódlan.

.

.

.

Down with the Emperor.

Long Live the King.

Five years. Five long years, and the war has finally come to a close.

Annette found Felix in the Goddess towers, and she wonders if he was going to propose to her now that the war has met its end.

Thankfully… he didn’t.

“I have no reason to do so.” Was all he said, as they watched the sun went down, their hands loosely clasped together. She figured it was small gestures like these that Felix adored when they were alone. That, or he was touch starved.

“I thought you loved me.” She said, her tone hint with mirth.

“I do.” There was no action behind his words, but for Annette, his words are more than enough. When together, Felix was readily softer to her when he wanted too. In fact, just being by her side was enough. “But I know you want to be with your family, and you have a future ahead of you. Being with me, as my wife will only hinder your future, and I can’t do that to you.”

“That’s not exactly true, I can still visit my family-”

“Annette.” Felix cuts her off, the sunset bask upon his features, as the shadow adds age below his eyes. She took pause, and stare. Just when did he become an adult? He looks so… tired, wary, vulnerable. She wonders if the war has taken a toll on her too. “You just reunited with your family, at least spend some time with them. It’s the least you can do. I can wait.”

Her steel blue eyes found his, no longer interested in the sunset, as the ball of light dips under the horizon. “Wait? For how long?”

“As long as you need. Beside my title is not worth it, not when my territory is in dire need of repair… you being by my side will only be a distraction.”

Annette’s mouth parted, agape. “Excuse me! A distraction! You’re the one who wanted me to sing to you!” Yet her voice held no irk, and gave in a giggle as she attempted to shove the swordmaster aside.

She failed.

No matter.

She loves him anyways, she even loves him now as she pressed her lips against his. 

“Wait for me Felix.” Annette whispers, once they parted.

He nods, eyes closed and hums. 

“I will Annette.”

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**Author's Note:**

> Moral of the story: make Sylvain a dark knight, y'all fools.   
Did you know there was another 2000 words, but it was just Sylvain, Ingrid and Felix bullshitting. That being said, I can't say this was a good Felianne fiction, nor do I understand Felix's mindset. I'm sorry. The bar is set too high.  
[Tumblr to yell @ me](https://vosienn.tumblr.com/)


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